


bold enough to fall

by addandsubtract



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: It’s muggy and warm, even inside the gym, and there’s sweat trickling between Kei’s shoulder blades, beading along his hairline. His glasses keep slipping down his nose.Also: Kuroo is here, for some reason.





	bold enough to fall

**Author's Note:**

> here i am, dipping my toes in. this is shamelessly inspired by the artwork released of everyone in painters’ clothes, and how kuroo seems to be generally accepted as some kind of thirst trap.
> 
> thanks to s for reading this over for me and having opinions about it.

It’s hot — Kei shouldn’t be surprised, it’s early enough in September that the heat hasn’t abated yet, and the humidity is still thick in the air. Karasuno and Nekoma are spending a long weekend together on a stupid team-building retreat, the start of their ramp up to Nationals, and Kei, all told, would rather not be here.

“It’s not that bad,” Tadashi says, because he’s a relentless optimist, and whether he’ll admit it or not he gets a kick out of being positive in the face of Kei’s general negativity.

“Whatever,” Kei says. If it was just practice games and workouts that would be one thing, but in addition to the usual they’re spending the day painting the gymnasium of a local middle school. Hinata and Kageyama have already gotten into two loud arguments about paint rollers, and are now seemingly competing over who can paint their assigned wall faster. It’s muggy and warm, even inside the gym, and there’s sweat trickling between Kei’s shoulder blades, beading along his hairline. His glasses keep slipping down his nose.

Also: Kuroo is here, for some reason.

“Didn’t he graduate?” Kei asks. He’s trying for aloof, but the words come out whinier than he’d like. Tadashi glances at him out of the corner of his eye and laughs softly.

“He’s helping Nekomata out after class, I heard Kenma mention it to Hinata earlier. Experience to put on his resume for when he’s looking for a real job. He’s in the sports business program at uni, so it applies, I guess.”

“Huh,” Kei says, and glances over at him. He’s wearing coveralls like the rest of them — like he’s part of the team — though they’re half undone, the arms tied around his waist as a concession to the heat. His t-shirt is sticking to his back, gone translucent with sweat, and he’s diligently painting one of the far walls a solid white, half-turning to scold Lev for slacking without slowing down himself.

Kuroo pauses to wipe his face with the edge of his t-shirt, flashing skin, and then sees Kei watching him. He smirks, waggling his fingers, and Kei scowls, turning back to the wall he and Tadashi are blocking out in black and green. He’s pretty sure he’s not blushing, and that Kuroo is too far away to tell anyway, but the exposed stripe of belly reminds Kei of the afternoon he and Kuroo spent together after last year’s Nationals, when Kei ditched his team for two hours to hook up with Nekoma’s recently-ousted captain in their empty hotel room.

He’d like to think he’s done worrying at it, but he’s never been great at self-delusion. He wonders what Kuroo thinks about that afternoon, if he thinks about it at all.

Here is what happened: Kuroo congratulated Kei on Karasuno’s win, shook his hand and lingered too long. There were more games to be played, but Kei was strung tight with nervous energy, a taut, vibrating wire, and when the rest of the team went out for lunch, it was easy to take Kuroo up on his blithe offer of coffee, maybe a pastry, and some dissection of the game. Even then Kei knew they weren’t actually going to do any of that.

“Hey, you’re fine,” Kuroo said, once he was kneeling between Kei’s legs, his long-fingered hands settling on Kei’s thighs. Kei hadn’t even realized he was trembling. How embarrassing.

“Sure,” Kei had said, or tried to, and then swallowed the back end of the word when Kuroo had leaned in and kissed his belly. No one had ever touched him like that before. Kuroo didn’t even make fun of him for it, just smiled, like he was pleased. Kei had had no idea what to do with it.

Now, nearly a year later, Kei still doesn’t, and also he hasn’t seen Kuroo in person since. They text regularly, but it’s mostly Kuroo sending Kei jokes and Kei insulting him. Sometimes he takes a picture of wherever he happens to be — his shoes against the gym floor, the rain outside his window, the candy display at the convenience store near his house — and sends that instead. It doesn’t involve any kind of feelings, except that Kei doesn’t know why Kuroo bothers. He’s in uni now, and should have better things to do than text high schoolers he used to play volleyball against. 

“He’s looking at you,” Tadashi says, casual, and that makes Kei glance up again. Kuroo has his chin propped on the end of his roller, and he’s definitely watching them. Kenma approaches from behind him, follows the direction of Kuroo gaze, shakes his head, and walks away. It makes Kei want to run in the opposite direction, squirm out from underneath Kuroo’s knowing expression, but he won’t make a scene. Instead he bares his teeth in his least sincere smile and turns back to his work.

They pause for lunch, grilling meat and cutting up watermelons. It’s good until Kei realizes that Kuroo has ditched his shirt, tucking it into the back of his coveralls. He’s pale, but doesn’t seem terribly worried about sunburning. Not that he ever appears to worry about anything. He’s animated, gesturing with a slice of watermelon, saying something that makes Tanaka laugh. Kei is too far away to hear what. He hasn’t lost any of the muscle tone he had in high school — if anything, he’s more defined. It’s a stupid thing to notice, but Kei has always found Kuroo attractive. The fact that he’s in better shape now is noticeable only because Kei has spent so much time looking at him. That’s sad, in a way, but Kei can still appreciate the wide spread of his shoulders and the taper down to his narrow hips. The way the muscles in his back bunch and twist when he reaches out to smack Tanaka on the back of the head.

“Are you actually gonna say hi or just stare?” Ennoshita asks. His smile is that blend of savage and kind that he picked up from Suga, but the question is all Daichi. Other teams ask, sometimes, why Ennoshita was made captain once the third years left, but everyone on Karasuno knew he was the obvious best choice. It wasn’t even a real discussion.

“I’m not asking for advice,” Kei says. “You don’t have to captain me.”

Ennoshita deflates slightly, but his smile doesn’t change much. It’s hard for Kei to rile anyone who isn’t Kageyama anymore. “I know. It’s just funny to see your calculating face outside of a volleyball game.”

“Hm,” Kei says. Kuroo is wiping his hands on the pants of his coveralls, probably staining them with watermelon juice. Kei sighs and pulls out his phone, sending Kuroo a text: _please put on a shirt, the reflection off of your pasty skin is blinding me_.

He watches Kuroo pull his phone out of his pocket, read the text, and throw his head back as he laughs. It’s gratifying and embarrassing at the same time. When Tanaka tries to lean over and get an eye on his screen, Kuroo turns it away and starts typing.

Kei’s phone buzzes: _i think u mean ur blinded by my hot bod ;)_

Kei’s phone buzzes again: _i thought u were gonna keep ignoring me but that means ur looking at me_

Kei’s phone buzzes a third time: _cool as a cucumber thats my tsukki_

Kei can feel his face start to heat up. He’s not really Kuroo’s anything, but the affection gets to him anyway.

_i talk to you all the time, it’s not as if this is anything special,_ Kei texts back.

He hears Kuroo laugh again, but he doesn’t look — he’s afraid if he does he’ll catch on fire, or explode. Normally he’d be happy to have scored a point, used to approaching every conversation like a competition, but Kuroo changed the rules when he showed up in person. Kei is doing his best to keep up.

Next to him, Ennoshita laughs. “Are you texting him? You know you could just walk eight steps forward and talk to him face to face.”

“This is better,” Kei says, though he doesn’t say for who.

_aw tsukki ur gonna make me feel sad and neglected_, Kuroo says.

They probably won’t start painting again for another twenty minutes or so. Kei glances at Kuroo, the twist of his arms as he stretches them over his head, the expanse of all that bared skin. His eyes are hooded, knowing, looking unerringly in Kei’s direction. Kei can’t stand it.

There’s a soccer field around the corner of the building, fenced in, stands bordering the two longer sides. Kei quietly excuses himself from the gathering, waving off Ennoshita’s half-formed question, and heads to the bleachers. He climbs up to the top row, looking out over the green to the residential buildings on the other side. It’s nice to just breathe and not think. Kei is a thinker by nature, but it can get him in trouble, too — his expectations too high, or too low, winding himself into circles.

He’s not that surprised, however, to hear the clatter of footsteps on the metal, climbing toward him. He puts it at a 15% chance that Tadashi is here to drag him back to the group and an 85% chance that it’s Kuroo, here to further pester him. It would be easy to look, to check, but Kei doesn’t — he closes his eyes and lets the light breeze brush over his skin. It feels good, chasing some of the humidity away.

“Hey.” It’s Kuroo, of course. Kei wonders what kind of excuses he made to Tanaka. If he even bothered. “Did I chase you off?”

Kei looks up and takes in the fact that Kuroo has put his shirt back on. His eyebrows are up near his hairline, his mouth soft but not smiling yet.

“No,” Kei says, and it's the truth. Kei is always the one who chases himself off.

“Good,” Kuroo says, sitting. He’s close enough to touch, the wide spread of his thighs leaving scant centimeters between their legs. There’s a difference between Kuroo in text and Kuroo in person, which Kei knows — he’s more serious, more transparent. Kuroo was kind to him, that last time. Kuroo, despite his sly smiles and sleepy eyes, hasn’t ever really been anything else. Knowing that doesn’t do much to settles Kei’s nerves.

“I forgot what you’re like in person,” Kei says.

Kuroo laughs, quiet, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It only gets messier the more he touches it. “You know, I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Does it have to be either?” Kei studies his profile, the bit of stubble he missed on the side of his jaw when he last shaved, the stretch of the tendons in his neck, the pink of the skin across his cheeks. “Were you showing off?”

“Only a little,” Kuroo says, and chuckles. “It really is hot.”

Kei isn’t sure he believes that, but the admission is enough. “I didn’t really mind,” he says. An admission in turn.

“Aw, Tsukki,” Kuroo says, smile spreading across his face. “You do care.”

Kei snorts. “University didn’t magically make you more mature, I see.”

“Maturity is overrated,” Kuroo says. “Anyway, I got a reaction, didn’t I?”

“I guess,” Kei says. “Was it the reaction you wanted?”

“I was hoping that you’d swoon, but I figured it wasn’t that likely,” Kuroo says. When Kei sneaks another glance at him, he’s looking at Kei already. His expression is so fond, it makes Kei want to lash out, ruin it. The implication scares him. Kuroo thinking about him, thinking about seeing him, specifically. “This is okay, though. Sitting here with you.”

Kei thinks about that, and Kuroo lets the silence lie. He’s not Bokuto, who can’t shut up for thirty seconds. He’s patient. Kei wonders if that's what the last months have been, since Nationals, since Kuroo sat with him while they caught their breath, one hand gently touching his back. Kei wonders if he’s been waiting for Kei to catch up.

“I didn’t really know why you kept talking to me, after you graduated and left for University.” Kei’s hands are clenched tightly against his knees, and he feels stupid, talking like this. He could easily push things back to where he’s comfortable, insult Kuroo’s hair, the fact that he’s still hanging out with high school students, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to. He enjoys their banter, but this, today, is something else.

“Yeah, I figured,” Kuroo says. His voice is dry. “I do know you, you know.”

“Hm,” Kei says. He forces himself to relax his hands, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in his chest. “What am I thinking about now, then?”

Kuroo shifts, slinging a leg over the bleacher so he can face Kei more fully. “If I had to guess? You’re wrestling with how uncomfortable I’m making you.”

Kei has to chuckle. He thought Tadashi understanding him was bad enough. This is worse, in a way. Tadashi has known him since they were kids, he has a leg up. Kei is used to him. Kuroo has been paying attention when Kei wasn’t looking. 

“Sure,” he says.

“I don’t think you’d hate it if I kissed you, though.”

Kei lets his eyes slide back over, meeting Kuroo’s again. He’s steady, eyebrows expectant. Kei shrugs, the movement jerky. “I wouldn’t hate it.”

Kuroo smiles wide, and then he laughs, throwing his head back. This time Kei is close enough to watch him, the long column of his throat, the way he squeezes his eyes shut. Kuroo is always handsome, but seeing him laugh, seeing his genuine amusement, is better in a way Kei can’t articulate yet. It’ll be something to chew over later, maybe, but right now Kei is not thinking about logistics. He’s not trying to figure out how this conversation fits into his life, the comfortable habits he’s built. He’s enjoying the view.

“Nice,” Kuroo says, when he quiets down again.

“What?”

“Your face right now. It’s nice.” Kuroo’s smile is lopsided, fond, and Kei is halfway to getting his hackles back up when Kuroo curls a hand around the curve of Kei’s jaw and kisses him.

It’s enough of a surprise that Kei makes a noise against Kuroo’s mouth, but Kuroo’s fingers are gentle and firm, holding him steady. His mouth is soft and insistent at the same time, opening against Kei’s, and Kei remembers what this is like. Kissing Kuroo. The familiarity of it is comforting, but Kei still doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He keeps them in his lap for a long moment, and then, when he can’t stand it anymore, reaches out and tangles them in the fabric of Kuroo’s shirt, holding tightly.

Kei’s lips are humming from the contact when Kuroo pulls away. Kuroo’s mouth is pinker, and he’s flushed across his cheeks and nose, his eyes darting from Kei’s mouth to his eyes to his fingers. His thumb brushes over the skin just underneath Kei’s jaw, and Kei can barely breathe. He’s too full of awe and affection, too embarrassed by the strength of his reaction.

“Someone is going to come looking for us soon,” he says. He expects it to break the tension, but maybe he’d have to let go of Kuroo’s shirt to do that, and he can’t seem to make himself.

“It’ll probably be Yamaguchi, and I doubt he’d be surprised,” Kuroo says, but he sighs and lets his hand fall away from Kei’s face. “I want to kiss you again.”

“Another time,” Kei says, and then realizes that he’s said it. Kuroo’s eyes go wide for just long enough that Kei notices, and then he schools his face into a grin, wide and crooked.

“I knew you’d be susceptible to my charms, Tsukki,” Kuroo says. “It was really only a matter of time.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to make it through the day,” Kei says. His face is hot, probably bright red. He’s never going to live this down. He finally manages to untangle his fingers from Kuroo’s shirt, at least, a small victory. “We should go back.”

“Okay,” Kuroo says. “But I’m holding you to that ‘another time’.”

“Whatever,” Kei says, aiming for nonchalance and missing. Kuroo stands and offers him a hand. Kei looks at it for a long moment before taking it, letting Kuroo pull him up. The touch doesn’t linger — maybe Kuroo isn’t pushing his luck. Kei wouldn’t mind, but he won’t tell Kuroo that. He’s given enough away already.

“The rest of today is gonna suck,” Kuroo says, with another deep sigh. They start climbing down the bleachers together. “We’re supposed to be painting and I’m just gonna be thinking about kissing you.”

“Maybe you should have waited until later, then,” Kei says. His voice comes out remarkably even, considering the way his heart is revolting inside his chest.

“Nah,” Kuroo says, with a wry twist to his mouth. “I’ve waited long enough.” He leans in and kisses Kei on the cheek before disappearing back around the corner, where the rest of their teams are probably finished eating. Kei doesn’t touch his cheek, but he does reach out and press his fingertips against the brick of the building, solid and unmoveable. He smiles, and it’s okay because no one can see him.

He’s about to finish the walk back when his phone buzzes in his pocket again. It’s from Kuroo: _im gonna take my shirt off again 2 torture u_.

Kei leans against the wall and types back, _that’s okay, i’ll just take my glasses off. problem solved._

Kuroo sends him about twenty sad emoji faces. Kei thinks about how Kuroo’s mouth felt against his, the calluses on Kuroo’s fingers when he pulled Kei up. He thinks about all the varieties of Kuroo’s smile, and how he recognizes each one. It’s possible that he’s been paying attention too.

He pushes off the side of the building, finally ready to slide back into his place with the team. Tadashi gives him a sidelong, knowing grin as he approaches, but Kei ignores him. Kuroo is bugging Kenma, draped over his back, whining about something Kei can’t hear. He glances over when Kei appears, and waggles his eyebrows. It’s enough of an opening for Kenma to shake him off, sending him sprawling onto the ground, squawking.

“You get everything worked out?” Tadashi asks.

Kei thinks Tadashi probably knows the answer to that already, but he shrugs and says, “Yeah, enough.” It’s not a lie. Kei is trying not to get ahead of himself with the whys and hows. He can think about it later. For now, this is enough.


End file.
